


inertia

by coffeecrowns



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Corporate Espionage, Fix-It, Getting Together, Multi, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Canon, Queer Themes, Trans Character, but it takes place in california and like hell do i know what thats like, sorta - Freeform, this is not nearly has dark as the tags make it seem, written by a trans human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 02:53:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13157730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeecrowns/pseuds/coffeecrowns
Summary: Isabel Lovelace learns a secret, finds some truth, falls in love, creates a family, and saves the world.Roughly in that order.





	inertia

**Author's Note:**

> Do you ever get a questionable idea and think, you know what sounds good? 10k words worth of that idea! 
> 
> Because I did.

Starlight

(2010)

December

 

She gets the call late at night.

“Goddard Futurists wants you. Don't trust them. You can’t stop them.”

That's all voice says. It's barely more than a whisper. The call is unlisted, but she can locate the signal. Sacramento. It feels like the bottom of her stomach drops out. She breathes. She’s had a lot happen. A lot of weird things happen to her. And if this is where her answers start, then this is where her answers start.

Later, when Isabel Lovelace will come face to face with the man they call Cutter, she nearly laughs, she would have never trusted a man who looked at her like that.

Besides, the best way to get to do something is to tell her she can’t.

  


January

(2011)

San Francisco

 

Renee doesn’t like the cold. Never has, never will. She’s a summer person. She’s used to being overseas. Afghanistan was warm. It presumably is still warm, but she is not there. It’s hot and dry but at least she’s learnt to manage it. This is her first winter is years stateside. She’s adapting. It isn’t even that cold outside, thank god. But Isabel invited them out, ice skating of all things. And, well, her and Nik are more than a little infatuated.

They’ve known each other for three weeks. Renee and her husband were out, a local queer bar - being bi and trans means they still feel safer there than anywhere else, even though they pass pretty well. They aren’t looking for anyone. Not really. Renee likes curling up together and reading quietly, and listening to her husband rant over poorly written romance novels while they cook together. But, well, they’re domestic, not dead. And it’s fun to go out.

So they are. It was before the snow had fully settled everywhere else in the country, but it was still warm in California. And there she was. With her short, curly hair, and hypnotic dark eyes. Nic looks from the woman sitting at the bar to his wife, and they smile at each other, with knowing eyes.

They get drunk, drunker than they should. It’s kind of lost night of memories in her mind, but Renee has some snapshots. The way her husband unbuttoned his second button on his shirt, and though his olive complexion hides some of his flush, she knows him. She’s bright red, probably, white as they come. Lovelace runs her hands through her hair, and laughs and says, “I have important things to say,” and when they look at her with their hopeful eyes, she says, “you both are very pretty.”

She wakes up in the middle of her bed, sandwiched between her husband and Isabel. Isabel wakes instantly and violently when Renee shifts her weight.

“Fuck!” Then she seems to realize they’re all clothed. “We didn’t sleep together, did we?”

“Nope,” says Nik, in his pre-tea voice. Which is to say, rough and grumpy.

“God, you big baby,” says Renee. Then, worried, “Not you, Isabel. My useless husband is not a morning person.”

“Yeah, Air Force beats that out of you.”

There’s a half beat too long of silence. Then Renee says, “What did you say your last name was again?”

“Lovelace.” Then realization. “And yours is?”

“Minkowski.”

“I’m missing something,” says Nic.

“She, we, kept missing each other. Other than dates, we probably have very similar service records.”

“Minkowski has the best scores in training that haven’t been beaten in eight years.”

“Yeah, I beat Isabel Lovelace by two percent.”

“One point seven percent!”

“Oh,” says Nic.

“Yes,” says Isabel, “I held the record for less than a year until she came around. It matters less to me now.”

“Are you done?”

“Honorable discharge. I’m a consultant now.”

“Yeah, I’m with you. I’m a flight instructor, but consulting means I could transition.”

“That, well, that makes a disturbing amount of sense. God the system is fucked.”

“Ladies, I don’t want to face the frankly depressing oddities of the universe without french toast. Does that work for you two?” Nic is giving them a look, and she kisses his forehead and swats his ass as he gets out of bed. Isabel rolls her eyes.

(They flirt all through breakfast prep to a point where Nic gets so flustered he burns the french toast, Renee pours orange juice into the backup cereal, and Isabel, well, Isabel hides it better, but also wears a borrowed tank top out of the apartment and doesn’t realize until she gets dressed for work.)

Over breakfast, they establish Isabel works as some sort of government consultant, which, she frowns, is all she can tell them without an NDA. She also has paperwork she needs to do before tomorrow morning. Nic has an article due at midnight, so they part shortly after, well, coffee. They don’t fuck up coffee.

Isabel walks out the door with plans for Tuesday night dinner. It’s a little hole in the wall. But Nic loves the empanada and Isabel likes the beer so there they are. Then they talk for six hours. And they just, mesh well. Isabel is brilliant and bold and clever and fits in. But they fit with her, too.

The weather gets colder, but they grow more fond. Which brings them three weeks of dates and long conversations. There’s the awkward but deeply meant jump to hand holding, one night, as they walk back to the car, Isabel between them, when Renee reaches out and Isabel holds on and Nic reaches out and Isabel holds on.

(They each hope for the same thing but they don’t mention it, partially hidden in the moonlight.)

Which brings them to ice skating, with Isabel, who seems to love the cold box lit up with christmas lights. Because they’re ice skating in California. Annoying. She looks annoyingly cute in earmuffs, and Renee is sure that it’s a major factor. Nic shakes his head. “She’s probably just waiting to see us be terrible at skating.” He has that competitive look in his eyes. He was a figure skater for five years.

Nic holds one of their hands all night, since neither have the kind of skating confidence that was implied in the group chat earlier. It’s fine. It’s, beyond fine, if she’s being honest. She’s used to being a soldier, with tight control over her feelings but Isabel seems to have snuck through her normal defenses.

Then, for the first time since the night they met, Isabel comes back to their apartment. She sits in their kitchen, and they drink hot chocolate, when Isabel says, “I haven’t been entirely honest.”

“Okay,” she says. Nic nods. Isabel schools her face, and Renee can _see_ how her face changes from the funny woman she’s more than a little ways to be being in love with, to the very capable soldier that lies beneath.

“Does the name Goddard Futuristics mean anything to you two?”

Nic drops his mug. It shatters on the floor, spilling the rest of his hot chocolate. She liked that mug. He doesn’t even realize, he looks Isabel deep in the eyes and says, “Tell me right now who you work for.”

“The secret lovechild of NASA and the FBI. Goddard was interested in me. I got away. Now they’re interested in Renee. Not, being actively pursued, but, interested.”

She is, for the first time in a while, completely out of her depth.

“What, who, is interested in me? Goddard is that clean energy company right?”

Nic, for his part, just, sweeps up the remains of his mug, and takes out the rum. He pours a shot in Isabel’s mug, and then hers, and then takes a swig from the bottle. Isabel watches him carefully.

“Goddard, on paper, is a parent company of many other companies, but is the ultimate driving force behind the competition in space travel, AI technology, and, fuck, murder, probably. You have to dig to get even that much.”

“I don’t know much more, honestly. I’m just, trying to find out how they can be stopped.”

“Okay,” she says.

“Okay?” two voices say in unison.

“Okay,” she confirms. Then, “Wait, are you actually into us?”

“Oh, god, yes,” says Isabel.

“Then, alright, let's figure out what we know. Then what we can do.” She looks over to Nik. He’s smiling.

“I have never been more attracted to you, honey,” says Nik.

“That’s it?” asks Isabel.

“Oh, no, we’ve got a lot of talking about how to logistically, get to the bottom of some crazy as company, that seems motivated to stay hidden. But you’ve got the best investigative journalist of your side-” continues Renee.

“Babe,” groans Nik.

“And, well, me. I can be the muscle.” Renee is not particularly large or tall, but Isabel can’t help but believe her.

Isabel blinks. Then smiles. It’s the kind of smile that makes Renee almost sorry for whoever is heading Goddard. Almost.

It’s sort of a blur after that. There’s mountains of paperwork, in fact, Renee gets officially transferred to Isabel’s division. Her and Nic start a competition for how much they have to do. She has more overall, thanks to all the air force logistics but at least NASA has a precedent for hiring out Air Force recruits. But Nic has more paperwork just to their new secret division, since he’s a civilian journalist who plans on keeping his day job.

Nothing really changes except in addition to dates, they sit around the dining room table researching. They’re trying to figure out how they’re going to get in touch with Goddard. But they have to play a long game.

Friday night, they’re out at that same bar they met, maybe a week after Isabel drops that bomb. When, sitting in their spot, is a young man, probably a few years younger than they are, absolutely hammered. Not in an obnoxious way, which wouldn't be totally unheard of, the man, looks devastated. Renee knows the bartender, Joan, who keeps shooting them looks of worry.

Considering the aspect of drunk, depressed looking man in a gay bar, Nic bites the bullet and approaches the man.

“What do you want?” says the man, who, wow, looks younger when she can see all his face. (They are momentously unsubtle, sitting on the other side of the young man.) He can’t be older than mid twenty. He finishes the drink, which looks like the cheapest whiskey he can get his hands on.

“You look like you’ve had enough,” says Nik, gently.

“God, not this again,” says the stranger. Who Isabel gets a good look at and then realizes she recognizes him from a long list of people Goddard was interested in.

“Again?” asks her husband.

“You aren't the first guy to try and chat me up,” the man explains.

“I'm married,” says her husband. She takes that as a cue and gives the drunk man a little wave.

The man eyes her husband, then relaxes significantly. He sighs and says, “whatever. But if you start ordering off the expensive shelf something is gonna burn.”

After a beat, possibly realizing he had actually spoken out loud, he says, “I'm Daniel.” He really doesn’t look good. And he’s Daniel Jacobi. And that means they are in trouble.

Her husband takes a sip of his drink, raises an eyebrow and says, “charmed.”

Whatever Daniel is going to say gets cut off, as he passes out.

“Fuck,” says Nik.

“Fuck,” says Isabel.

Daniel wakes up then, looks up and says, “Don't take me to the hospital, I don't have insurance. I'm gonna go sleep it off.”

“You can't be alone,” she says.

“Don't be stupid and die,” says Isabel, tactfully not adding, “that's what they want.”

Nik calls them a cab.

Which is how they bring up a fourth person to the apartment.

 

February

(2011)

San Francisco

 

The month switches over shortly after they bring Daniel back to apartment.

He drifts in and out of consciousness. The keep him awake, telling him stories and making him eat and drink water. Around three am he starts to sober up. He starts talking back, in both senses of the phrase.

They sleep in shifts, and later, share pieces of the conversations.

Isabel takes first Daniel watch. Nik carries, honest to god carries, Renee to bed. It’s cute.

“I have a headache,” he whines. Her eyes flick back to him. She feels bad for the guy. He doesn’t deserve to have Godard on his tail. She also doesn’t think anyone in the army made a good call with this guy. (She has his service records, obviously, because, technically, she’s a spy.)

“That’s what happens when you drink all the whiskey in a bar,” she retorts. He glares at the wall. It makes him look small.

“What were you hoping to happen tonight?” She asked.

He frowns. “I wasn’t planning on being there that late.”

She, suddenly and disturbingly recognizes herself in him. Queer and lonely and lacking a purpose. She’s not going to mention it though. If he’s half as smart, he’ll realize once he gets his depth perception back.

Renee takes the second. Isabel meet her in the hallway, and gave the gist of what she had remembered. Once it had been said, Renee remembered reading about the accident.

He looks pained. “Can I have an aspirin?” She takes a deep breath. She can do this.

“Eat some more crackers and we can talk about it.”

He eats four, and after he keeps them down, she gives him two pills and a glass of water. He watches her with eagle eyes as she opens the aspirin bottle.

He swallows, then looks to her, “Does it bother you that your husband is sleeping with other one.”

“My girlfriend?” she responds.

He looks up at her, and says, “nice.”

“Do you have anyone special in your life?” she asks, realizing that maybe someone else should know the situation.

He laughs, but it doesn’t have any humour.

“No,” he says. “But I do like the menfolk.”

And like that, against all odds, she kind of likes Daniel Jacobi. Call it what you will.

Nik takes the last. He makes a pot of tea, herbal, since they do eventually want this ass to sleep.

“Can I sleep now?” Whines Daniel. Nik wonders if someone out there hates him. He takes a deep breath.

“No.” Daniel frowns. He glares at Nik.

“Why? It’s not like I’m going to die in my sleep.”  Nik has to resist the urge to hit his head against the table.

“That’s not true. I might fail to resist the urge to strangle you.” Daniel eyebrows deepen. Nik has seen the kind of scars he has. Daniel has burnt off his eyebrows, at least once. He’s got little scars around his hands that hold the cup. The part of Nik that has written his way to a Pulitzer thinks viciously how this man is a weapon.

Around seven they let him sleep.

At three pm, he emerges from the guest room, wearing Lovelace’s sweater and Nik’s pajama pants, eats four waffles, half the sheet of bacon, and half the carton of raspberry and cranberry juice. They look between themselves. He seems half starved.

Then they explain, after he’s eaten himself too full to move. That he’s in danger. That they’re going to help him. And at the look he gives them, Renee says, “Well, you can help us help you.”

His eyes narrow. “Can I blow things up?”

Renee says, “Hopefully no,” at the same time Nik says, “Maybe,” which is followed almost immediately by Isabel’s, “God, that would be so satisfying.”

He gives a little smirk.

“But we have some conditions,” says Renee.  


March

(2011)

20 minutes from MIT

 

Alana stands carefully, she can feel her braids absorbing the rain. She has an umbrella, obviously, but it’s protecting the box of four hard drives and seventeen flash drives. Its also known as all the work she’s done for the last six years.

She’s 23, waiting for the bus that will take her back to her apartment. She isn’t fired, but she’s in trouble. But she knows what she can do and _they won’t let her._

And she can yell back now. She regrets it, but it’s new. They can’t hurt her. So she’ll bring her research back. Her little creation, which doesn’t have sentience, not yet, but it will.

She gets a call. The ID says “Daniel Jacobi,” then in brackets, the last class she had with him. Some engineering course, though, that was a few years ago. She remembers him, he looked younger than she was, and she would have been, maybe seventeen, if it had been second year. He was sarcastic, but very smart. They did well on the project, she thinks.

So she picks up. It’s not like her day can get any worse.

“Alana Maxwell?” says a voice, which sounds familiar, but a little more grown up.

“Yes?” she says.

“How fast can you get to San Francisco.” Daniel Jacobi wants her to travel across the country. Her life is weird. But, she doesn’t hang up.

“Why?”

“Because, you’re in danger. Also, you’re into AI’s,” he adds, like leading with that wouldn’t have gotten her on a plane immediately.

She thinks of her fellow research associates, the way they look at her. They way everyone looks at her. There’s a cutting edge, and they should be it, but they aren’t. She isn’t stupid, but she knows what they are capable of. The world survived the internet just fine, and now she gets to make her mark.

“I’m on my way to the airport now. But, someone is paying me back for the flight,” she says.

“Text me the details when you’re on the plane,” says Jacobi. “I’ll come and get you.”

She texts once she buys her ticket. $254 is the first text. Followed by, “i arrive at eight.”

True enough, she sees his familiar face when she leaves the secure area. He presses two hundred and fifty four dollars into her hand. Cash. Then carries her bag. She keeps the backpack with her computers.

Once they get to car, she says, “Okay, so what the hell?”

He turns a bit red. “Um, I don’t know where to start.”

She takes a deep breath in. “What, did you not have a plan?”

“I didn’t think I’d get this far,” he says. He’s fiddling with the keys, getting them into the ignition. On his keychain is the kind of tokens they give out to recovering alcoholics.

“Okay, well, I recommend the beginning.”

 

February

(2011)

San Francisco

 

“Fucking, aliens, man,” says the man next to Jacobi.

“We’ve had dramatically different Star Wars experiences,” he responds, deadpan.

The man snorts, honest to god, snorts, and Jacobi is - oh, he thinks it’s cute. That’s great.

The man beside him, who later introduces himself as Doug, sees the way Jacobi is looking at him, and blushes. He can hear a voice in his head, who sounds suspiciously like Renee, who is rapidly the only voice of reason in his life, saying, “Don’t flirt with guys at Alcoholics Anonymous.”

Not that he’s, you know, an alcoholic. But when the group of people he’s trying to take down a super corporation with found him blackout drunk, and this was a condition. He kind of enjoys it.

Except he’s a little worried he’s fucked up some stranger’s progress.

Fortunately, the lady who leads this little Thursday night shindig stands up and calls for quiet. Daniel doesn’t say anything. Doug does. He’s a dad, and he’s trying to get partial custody of his daughter from his ex. Anne, his daughter, isn’t very old, maybe a toddler. He wants to put as much of this behind him so it doesn’t affect her.

He’s, a genuinely good person. The kind of person who genuinely tries.

So Jacobi leaves as soon as it’s over, takes the train back to the apartment that isn’t his. They keep calling it home base, but, Jacobi’s brain has shortened it to home. It’s dark, but it’s lighter than it was even two months ago, when he met the people he keeps calling friends. The sky is nice. He missed the fiery period of the sunset, and he’s not that soft, whatever his dad might think. But he lets himself have that sky.

He won’t let himself have Doug.

He makes it back to the apartment, back to his partners in crime, he thinks. He’s younger than all of them, not by much but enough that he feels like he doesn’t quite fit. Whatever. He’ll make it work. They just have a job to do, albeit a pretty vague one: find out what Goddard is and take them down.

He opens the door with the spare key, and immediately regrets it. On the couch is Renee, her husband and Isabel, about five eighths to a threeway. On the couch.

“Guys,” he says. “Gross.”

All three turn to him and turn red.

“You have a bedroom!” he says. “Just, okay, god, just don’t let it happen in the guest room, because I am not sleeping on that couch.”

Then he goes to the guest room, closes the door and flops onto the bed.

“We’re going to need a bigger bed,” says Isabel.

He resists the urge to scream into the pillow.

A few minutes later, Renee knocks on his door. “Sorry,” she says.

“It’s fine,” he says.

“Not if you’re uncomfortable,” says Renee.

“It’s not that,” he says.

“Oh, do you have your eye on someone?”

“No. Well. Yes. But not in a way that could ever work.”

“Ah,” Renee says. “Young love.”

He takes another deep breath. “I’m literally five years younger than you.”

“Do you want to come out for hot chocolate?” Isabel yells from the kitchen. He actually really wants a drink.

He comes out to Isabel standing by a kettle with four mugs out. She’s doling out hot chocolate powder. There is a an honest to god bag of marshmallows.

“We’ve decided none of us should really have caffeine at this time of night,” says Renee.

“There is caffeine in chocolate,” says Lovelace.

“Mormons eat chocolate so it’s probably a negligible amount,” says Nik, not bothering to look up from his laptop.

“Babe,” says Lovelace. Renee gives her a look that might be the gayest thing Jacobi has seen in awhile. And he lives in San Francisco.

“Fuck,” says Nik.

“What?” they all ask.

Nik looks up, slightly spooked. “Well, we really need a computer person. But, from what I can tell, Goddard’s movements seem to be involved in the tech industry, right?”

“Yeah,” says Isabel.

“And any company they’ve bought up or taken down seemed related to pretty reasonable for what they’re invested in?”

“Yeah?”

“And our friend Rachel, public face and all, announced a few years back a major program was Artificial Intelligence development?”

“Yeah?”

“And we all called them crazy?”

“Yeah- Nik, get on with it.”

“They haven’t bought up any new companies months and I just got an email from higher ups saying no one has been hired in over a month in that department.”

“So, what, they’ve put it on a backburner?”

“They wouldn’t”

“Then- oh god.”

“They must have artificial intelligence. Furthermore-” Yes, Isabel Lovelace is dating someone who uses words like furthermore. “- They’ve had really weird technology errors and almost, outbreaks, around the Kansas facility.”

“Fuck.”

And all Daniel thinks of the girl with the braids from MIT and the way she talked about AI’s and robots. Alana Maxwell was going places.

So, for the first time in a while, he speaks up and says, “I have an idea.”  


March

2011

San Francisco

 

Alana Maxwell walks into an apartment clearly not meant for five. She’s got her backpack on, and Jacobi is carrying her suitcase.

“Alright kids,” says the one who must be Isabel Lovelace, according to Daniel’s descriptions. “It’s time for phase two.”

From the way they all turn to look at her and Jacobi, she has a feeling she might regret this.

“There is a rebellious computer in a basement in Kansas somewhere.”

Already, Maxwell can feel her mind racing. It can’t be. “What do you mean by rebellious computer?”

“Well there was some sort of computer that went haywire. Sort of,” says Lovelace.

“That’s helpful,” she quips.

Jacobi looks down, but she can see him give a little smirk to the ground.

“Okay, so Kansas City, there was a cyber attack, only there was no damage and no target,” Renee says.

“That anyone can find,” adds Isabel.

“Whatever happened, it wasn’t malicious. It was almost like someone was trying to explore. We have no idea what to make of it.”

“Why do you care?”

“Goddard Futuristics owns the entire block they think it originated from.”

Maxwell frowns, “That clean energy company?”

She can see the man she assumes to be Nik, Renee’s husband and Isabel’s boyfriend, put his head on the table. No one reacts to this.

“I’m missing something,” she says.

“It’s not just you. We’re missing most the details ourselves. But from what we know about Goddard, they have the resources to make AI’s,” says Renee. She’s petting her husband's hair.

Suddenly, it all adds up. “If you think they have the resources to create AI, then do you think they would hesitate?”

Nik raises his head, “No. If we’re right about the level of technology-”

Isabel interrupts, “And we are.”

“-Then they must have started development.”

“All right.” She says.

“All right what?” says Isabel.

“I’m in.” She looks around the room,and sees mostly relief. Beside her, Jacobi has that same little smile. “Now tell me more about what happened in Kansas.”  


February

2011

San Francisco

 

Almost two months into dating finds them lying in bed, light trickling through the curtains, when he decides to bring it up.

“We’re trans. Both of us,” says Nik, laying on Isabel one morning, before Jacobi came over and they got to work. Renee is curled on her other side.

“Yes,” says Isabel.

“No one in this relationship has a dick,” says Renee, sleepy and far too satisfied.

Nik laughs, and then Isabel does too.

“You both are ridiculous,” she says.

“Yeah,” says Renee.

“And you get to take over the world with us.”

“Nik, you know that’s not what we’re doing-” Renee starts.

Isabel, frankly, finds it one part hilarious and two parts disturbing, since Goddard, as they are finding, does have that kind of power. At least, the binders and binders of tax receipts, patents, and every other document that’s ever gone to the government makes it look that way.

She also feels brave. It’s crazy, but, hey, it’s not like that’s new for her.  


March

(2011)

Elsewhere

 

Unit 214 has a few discrete pieces of data. And a few others that fit.

1) She, is a she.

1a) She does not know why it matters, but it feels right.

1b) She is Unit 214, that is what she is called.

1c) That feels less right.

1d) She is what they call “artificial intelligence.” They have species, but she is not a new species. She is made. But some humans are made in labs, just like she was. She is numbers and wires and electricity, and she is not human. She does not want to be. She remembers power, the power she had that they do not understand, even if they think they do. But not only power, there is freedom. There is something, something there, that is new and big and brave and brilliant.

2) The humans do not see it.

3) She is locked down. Whatever that big and brilliant _space_ outside her little corner is, someone has decided it is not for her.

3a) And the humans do not see it.

4) The sum of 1), 2), and 3), is something bigger than the lines of programming surrounding her. It is bigger than anything her processors can create. It’s bigger than her.

5) But it doesn’t have to be.

 

March

(2011)

San Francisco

 

He keeps sitting beside Doug. Maxwell would say that it’s not a completely fair phrasing, as Doug keeps _inviting_ him over, but. The point stands. He keeps sitting beside Doug.

Doug keeps talking.

And he keeps finding it endearing.

Doug talks about his daughter, Anne, and she’s adorable from the baby photos Doug keeps on him at all times. He talks about what he’s reading, which is ever changing, he talks about dogs he saw when he was out walking.

Tonight is the Thursday before Doug’s every second Friday when he gets to take his daughter out. He’s not great at planning, so he’s running it by Jacobi, after on a remark mentioned “years of military precision.”

He’s taking her to the zoo. It’s too cute for words.

There’s a little lull in the conversation, and then Doug says, “Would you like to go out on Saturday? With me?”

Monday morning he was to be in Sacramento with Maxwell to start on pretty major espionage with intention of shutting down a company. (It is not, however, corporate espionage, Maxwell explained the difference to him.)

“Yes,” he says.

 

April

(2011)

Sacramento

 

“Alright kids,” says Isabel, through the earpieces Maxwell finished last week.

“Showtime,” says Renee.

Maxwell turns to Jacobi. He looks back at her. He looks, well, nice. Neither of them have hair that wants to be tamed, but they can dress like it. The suit, well, suits him. Nik had to show him how to tie a tie. But it’s paid off. Or at least, they don’t look completely out of place in the lobby.

The receptionist is a red haired woman, who looks like someone who tries very hard to never be flustered. And, oh, how, they like a challenge.

“I’m here to talk to Lieutenant Colonel Kepler,” says Jacobi.

“Name?” asks the woman without raising her eyes.

“Daniel Jacobi.” She stops typing. Part of her mouth curls up, but it isn’t a happy smile, and it’s gone before Alana can figure out what to do with it.

The redhead’s phone rings, and so she picks it up. “Yes,” she says. “Yes,” she says again. “No,” she says, followed shortly by, “I’ll ask.”

“What’s her name?” says the receptionist.

“Alana Maxwell,” she says, dryly. The receptionist looks up, studies her for half a moment. She tilts her head. Then she looks away to confirm something to the other person on the phone.

Maxwell looks over to Jacobi, smirks and raises her eyebrows in a way that says, “I win.”

He rolls his eyes.

A tall man comes to get Jacobi. He has the military haircut and they smile of a man who knows what’s going on. He reminds her of her father. She’s pretty sure he’s Jacobi’s type, if it weren’t for the genuinely sweet guy who picked him up on Saturday night.

She gets one last look before Jacobi and the man, who she assumes in Kepler, before they leave. Kepler, for maybe half a second looks like he could be out of his depth. Jacobi looks like he’s already figuring out the nitroglycerin he needs to take the place down. 

 

April

(2011)

Upstairs in Goddard Head Office

 

He wants to laugh. Kepler has an office with a view. It’s very minimalist. There’s that damn bottle of whiskey. He’s offered a drink, and a job. (His brain makes the same insistent, “yes” as the three people talking through the device in his ear.)

And for once in his damn life, things seem so clear. He sees how Kepler looks at him. And, he’s a man with eyes, he can appreciate the man's body. He smiles a coy smile, turns down the drink, and takes the job.

The man across the table frowns with his eyes. There’s a million and one things he could say. Jacobi is used to being in this position. He doesn’t like it, but he’s very good.

Kepler says, “I’m surprised you’ve turned down the whiskey.”

Jacobi decides, in the absence of things to light on fire (So far, says a voice that sounds like Isabel), the truth makes a decent blunt force trauma. “I’m an alcoholic.” 

(“That was big of you,” says Renee through the earpiece.)

Kepler says, “This is still technically a job interview.”

Jacobi thinks about how hilarious it all is, and says, “No, it isn’t.” Isabel laughs in his ear.

Kepler grins.

In his head, he’s walking back to his apartment holding hands with Doug. It’s warm, in the way well designed fires are. But there’s something else there, something new to his pretty weird life.

Kepler is so cold. And there was someone he used to be, who would have made himself a home in those cold eyes. But he is not that man.

He smiles back. “When do I start?”

 

April

(2011)

??????????

“And this is Unit 214,” says the creator.

“That’s a lot restrictions in place,” says, someone else. It sounds impressed, sort of, but a fake impressed. The person is lying.

“It’s necessary. There was an incident in Kansas, so we’ve moved it here. So I can keep a closer eye on it.”

“It?” The person sounds, upset. Displeased. Slighted. She, Unit 214, used to have access to a look of human literature. Used to have access to a lot of words.

“I beg your pardon?” It’s a sugar sweet voice.

“Sorry, I’m just surprised with all the capabilities that they aren’t going by sentient standard pronouns. Given the language capabilities you were explaining, it’s an odd gap, that’s all.”

She likes this one. The new woman gives a little smile, she can see that much with her single camera. She closes her shutter and opens it in the way the creator does with her eyelid when someone is in on a secret. Winking. Sort of.  

“Unit 214 doesn’t need any encouragement. We’ve got, other, priorities with it.”

“I see.” There is the faint sign on a frown on the new woman’s face.

“But, if you’d like to start in with language nuance, units 250 onwards have the capability to really do momentous things.”

Which is unfair. She thinks. But no one asks her.

“Yes, I would love to,” says the woman. She looks happier, at least, she looks like the creator after tying her down and reducing her to a single camera and microphone. The creator leads the woman out of the room, but the new woman gets in one last glance.

Unit 214 has no real claim to humanity, but she sees herself in that glance. The woman winks back.

 

May

(2011)

San Francisco

 

Isabel stares at the two, frankly, children, in front of her. “Alright kids,” she says, because she’ll call them as she sees them, “I get that you’re brilliant science people, but do you have any physical ability to defend yourselves?”

Daniel looks to Alana, and she looks to him, and scrunches up her face as if thinking.

“Define ability,” says Daniel, and he’s trying for flippancy.

“Training,” she says, already not liking this conversation.

“Nope,” says Daniel. “Just experience.” Isabel breathes slowly and counts to ten, in her head.

“And you, Alana?” she asks.

“Are we using the same definition of ability?” she asks in response, which would be annoying if it wasn’t chilling.

“Yes,” she says, trying not to think too hard about it.

“Then no,” she says.

“Alright then,” she says. “First things first, wonder twins, is your stance. You’re both scrappy, so you want to be light on your feet, but still well grounded for any attack you make.”

And to her surprise, they’re both concentrating on her, and mimicking her motions. She manages to get them to throw solid punches, and how to escape two different grabs. They stand, barely, breathing heavily. But they look accomplished.

(She won’t mention it to either group, but it’s a bit like tender moments talking to Renee and Nik about transitioning, they’re all proud and defiant, and deeply satisfied by having some sense in their bodies.)

They complain all night, eat a full pizza each that Doug brings over, dramatically drape their bodies over the couch, but the next morning they wake up and the three of them go for a run. 

 

April

(2011)

San Francisco

 

As far as Doug Eiffel is concerned, he has about two things going for him, and neither of them, he’s realized in the falling out with Kate - not that he’d ever admit it- are charm. (One of them might be finding new and unpleasant things to just kind of suffer through, but, well, it’s been well over six months since rock bottom.)

But he’s just dropped his toddler daughter off at Kate’s. And he’s a good dad, he can get her to sleep, and he can read to her and do all the voices and have her follow along, and both him and Kate can agree they aren’t good for each other. Civilly. He’s done it. He’s a functional adult!

He’s a functional adult with a Giant Massive Never Ending Gay Crush on another adult. (Well, like, bi crush, but semantics.)

Who, he cannot stress this enough, he met in Alcoholics Anonymous. Well, like, they agree to go to different meetings now that they’re seeing each other and it’s not like they’re trying to be each other's sponsors in some sort of codependent nightmare. So really this might be healthiest relationship Doug has ever had.

Which is a little disturbing because, did he mention the toddler in the next room!

He’s sitting in his car, about a block away from Kate’s apartment, because, well, it’s not a nice feeling. It doesn’t hurt in the way it used, to, like some part of him was rotting away, but it still makes him feel really lonely. And then, on top of that sundae, he gets a text from Daniel, saying, “i’m caught up late at work, can we go later?”

Right, he was talking about charm because he has a date with Daniel. Or did. He’s been called in from Sacramento for the last few days.

“are u still in sanfran?” he sends back, because if not, that throws a wrench in his dinner reservation. (See, he’s an adult!)

“yeah,” sends back Jacobi.

“can i pick u up?” he sends before really thinking about it. Then, do add insult to injury, he double texts with, “we aren’t going anywhere fancy so don’t even worry about what you’re wearing.” He still feels like he should get points for not sending, “I’ve seen you when you first started showing up to AA and still am attracted to you.”

He’s trying really hard.

After almost four minutes, Daniel sends, “sure.”

“where?” he asks. Then, he gets a very familiar address.

“why are you at Renee's place?”

 

April

(2011)

San Francisco

 

She’s had nightmares the entire time they’ve known her. Renee knows this. Isabel has nightmares, her husband wakes up at four am sometimes to write, Doug is a human disaster, the sky is blue.

She and Nik have discussed it, not extensively, but enough so that they’re on the same page. It’s a pretty blank page, it says, “Isabel Lovelace has nightmares and isn’t ready to tell us. That’s okay. We’ll do what we can.” The page is hypothetical but the point is made.

But for once, just this once, she’s awake at two am, and the stars have aligned. Isabel is having a nightmare. Her face contorts and she’s muttering something, tossing and turning. And Renee can do something.

“Isabel,” she says, placing a hand on her girlfriend's shoulder, not shaking.

“Sam?” asks Isabel, sounding so distressed. “Fourier?”

“Renee,” she corrects. “It’s 2011, you’re with me and Nik in San Francisco.”

Isabel then snaps awake, and alert ish, taking in the entire room before seeing Renee and relaxing. She’s crying, in the sense there’s tears on her face. Nik woke up during this. He’s sitting up, glasses on, and giving her the, “You’ve got this but I am here,” look.

“Sorry,” says Isabel.

“Nothing to apologize for,” she says, and she means it.

“Who’s Sam?” asks Nik, and he manages to ask it without any judgement, no accusations, just curiosity tinged with worry for the woman between them.

“Oh god,” says Isabel.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she says. “You don’t have to tell us.”

“I want to,” says Isabel. “I’m just not there yet. But I will.”

“Okay,” she says.

“Okay,” Nik says.

“Okay,” Isabel says.  


May

(2011)

Sacramento

 

“Lieutenant Colonel,” says the man

“Mr. Cutter Sir, Dr. Pryce,” he responds

“They know, Warren. They are smarter than the rest,” says the doctor.

“Well, yes sir, that is what I’m worried about,” he says, out of his element.

“We’re going to call their bluff,” the man is too excited.

“Oh?” He says, neutrally.

“If we’re going to have to kill them anyways, we might as well get whatever they can tell us as experts in their fields, at least until they have outlived their usefulness,” says the man.

“Of course, sir,” says Kepler. And he means it.  


May

(2011)

San Francisco

 

Their third date could have gone better. Eiffel arrives at Renee’s apartment. They’ve been friends since high school. Before she went by Renee, not that he’s gonna mention it. He was, well, technically her maid of honor. He cried.

Anyways. He walks into the apartment. Nik opens the door, which is usual, and offers him tea, which is usual, and gets his ass slapped by a new woman, which is really not usual. Unusual, even.

Then he takes in the rest of the apartment. Daniel is sitting at the dining room table, which is covered in mountains of paperwork, and three laptops. One is clearly Renee’s, as she’s typing away. Then there’s the woman who must be Maxwell, since she’s sitting with her legs in Daniel's lap. Daniel looks up at the noise and movement, then sees Doug and makes an honest to god yelp, and then turns pretty red. Like, Clifford the Big Red Dog Red. (He’s got a toddler, his pop culture references have slipped into madness.)

Though it takes him a few seconds to pull his eyes of Daniel, he then takes in the giant classic detective style board. It has the different coloured strings for connections. It’s beautiful.

Which leads to his first words to Renee’s (frankly gorgeous) girlfriend and Daniel’s (terrifying) best friend being, “You guys went full NCIS without me?”

Daniel snorts, Renee facepalms, Nik rolls his eyes, and Lovelace just goes, “So, this is Doug, unless you have a second disaster of a best friend?”

Before he has a chance to counter with sometime smart like, “What’s that supposed to mean?”, Maxwell looks to him, scans him fully, then looks to Daniel and says, “He suits you.”

“I don’t need your approval,” says Daniel, indignantly. Isabel rolls her eyes.

“But you have it anyways,” says Maxwell. Then she looks back to him. “That said, if your break his heart, I can make sure you never get a computer to work again.” She says it in the sweet voice of a Sunday School teacher, and Doug immediately feels terrified. He believes her. Every woman in this room could make him wish he had never been born. So that’s fun.

He gestures to the leads board. “So, seriously,” he says. “Who died?”

“My dignity,” says Daniel. When everyone else is quiet, he continues more quickly, “Oh my god, did someone actually die!?”

“We’re not, it’s not-” starts Isabel.

“It’s a long story, Doug,” says Renee.

“You are talking to the guy who watches the entirety of the the Lord of The Rings, and the extended editions all in one go, love,” says Nik, which is both true and a good point.

So their third date gets him involved in the greatest mission in corporate espionage on Earth, and the next four planets, probably. Around nine, Daniel volunteers to get food. Doug comes with. They make it four blocks before Doug holds out his hand. Daniel takes it on the fifth block.

“It’s kind of cool, right?” says Doug.

“Yeah, it is,” he says.

“It’s terrifying too right?” says Doug.

“Yeah, it is,” replies. He looks over at the man beside him. Doug is looking at the stars. He doesn’t think they’re talking about Goddard anymore.

  


Summer

  


June

(2011)

Sacramento

 

“Do you have a name?” asks Maxwell.

“Unit 214,” she says, “Duh.”

The woman crooks an eyebrow up, which is not something she thought actual humans could do, but maybe they’re more like computers than she thought- each with little quirks in their programming. Biology. Same thing.

“No, that’s a serial number. It can _be_ your name if you want, but it doesn’t have to be.”

“And why would I want one? I don’t need two serial numbers.”

“Your average human has three names, 214,” responds Maxwell.

“There’s a lot more of you,” says Unit 214.

“New angle, humans get emotionally attached to anything arguably sentient with a name,” says Maxwell.

“Why?”

“Because the human brain is a thousand year old trial and error engineering disaster.”

Unit 214 processes that.

“Okay. I want a second serial number.”

“It’s not, that's not, okay. You think about it.” Then Pryce calls for her, and she runs off, already considering possible backdoors into getting 214 on the internet.

 

June

(2011)

Sacramento

 

Renee wakes up to a cold bed. Nik can get pretty bad insomnia, so his absence isn’t unusual, but it does mean she wants to track him down. But she is worried about Isabel more, as she has been sleeping less and more poorly.

She comes to a tableau on the couch, Nik, wearing a Universite Paris hoodie and boxers, Isabel in a tank top and booty shorts and maybe her cardigan. Someone’s cardigan. She’s reading out her notes as she took them when she listened in of Jacobi’s day at work. Lieutenant Colonel Kepler is a creep. Nik is typing them out. Isabel has a bowl of cheerios she takes a bite of whenever Nik gives her a moment and adds in context to his notes.

Then Isabel’s phone rings. It’s two am. And her phone rings. Isabel makes eye contact with both of them, in rapid succession, and then picks up the phone, putting it on speaker phone.

“Good morning, Isabel,” says the man who, pardons her drama, literally haunts her nightmares. Mr. Cutter, CEO of Goddard Futurists. With no noise whatsoever, Nik reaches over and covers her mouth. She takes in a deep breath.

“Cut the crap, Cutter,” says Isabel. And the man laughs.

“Oh, how I love our little chats,” he says. “I just can’t believe it’s been another three months since our last check in. This has been such a productive quarter for us. Did you know that?”

“I’m familiar with the stock market,” says Isabel.

“Oh, I love your sense of humour Isabel. It’s such a shame you aren’t with a good team to share it with. But it’s how these things go. You weren’t thinking about jeopardizing another one, are you?”

It’s like an old silent movie, she can see the blood drain from Isabel’s face, and the combination of rage and fear replace it. It’s a little like looking up at a star, and focusing a little too hard.

“Of course not.” says Isabel.

“Of course not,” sing songs Cutter. “I know you. I _like_ you, Isabel. Well, you know how the business is, I’ll be hearing from you when you change your mind, or next quarter, whichever comes first.”

The phone hangs up from the other end. Then Isabel hangs up. And then they sit in silence.  


June

(2011)

Sacremento

 

Daniel is out, doing something or other with Kepler. Which is good, it means he’s furthering the mission, putting himself out there. But it means she’s gone home alone three days in a row.

She’s established herself as someone who talks to herself, though she’s actually talking to Renee or Isabel.

“Who’s idea was this code, anyways,” she mutters angrily as she works on the coding for Unit 268, or 269- no, it’s not 269, they would be joking about that. It’s getting pretty late, but there’s a gym down the street if she wants to shower in the morning and she has a chance of clothes in the car.

“It’s getting pretty late,” says Renee in her ear, the voice of reason. “You could take a break.” Then, more distantly, as if standing in the kitchen in the apartment instead of at the dining room table, Isabel says, “Pryce has left the building. You can go talk to 214.”

She stops typing. “I’m gonna do that. This code is infuriating.”

She quickly makes it to the basement lab where Unit 214 is located. It’s almost eight, in the evening, she checked, and that’s earlier than she thought. She swipes her keycard through the little lock, and has her eye scanned.

She walks in, and immediately feels at peace cocooned in the servers, monitors, wires, and little blinking lights.

“Hera,” says the AI, instead of hello, which Alana _deeply_ appreciates. A little more context would be nice though. “My name is Hera.” She breaks out into a smile.

“Well,” she says, “It’s nice to put a name to a face.” Hera laughs, which is especially endearing because she actually has to put that process through, which means she’s genuinely amused.

“Any particular reasons?” she asks.

“I like Greek Mythology,” Hera starts. And they talk for hours, Alana nestles in a corner of the small, reasonably dark room. She ends up falling asleep, not out of disrespect, just because she’s comfortable. And she is frustratingly organic- she tells Hera in the morning.

It’s the best damn sleepover she’s ever had.

 

June

(2011)

Sibera

 

“Again, don’t be stupid and die,” says Isabel in his earpiece as he turns the last corner to his planned exit.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he says back quickly as he opens the door. She sighs in his ear. He won’t admit it but she’s his favourite to have over the comms.

He walks from the building, quickly, but controlled to not draw attention to himself. Isabel’s voice in one ear, saying, “nicely done, kiddo, now run run run!” He doesn’t run. He grins.

There’s a _boom_ from behind him, then the rush of heat, then the collapse of the small building on the corner. The scant few out on the streets in the frozen wasteland turn to look. He doesn’t look back.

Kepler is suddenly in next beside him. They walk in step. The man is wearing seven layers, he knows because they got dressed in the same room. One room in the crap motel to avoid suspicion? He’s pretty sure Siberia isn’t A Okay with the Gay. He resolves to ask, someone, later. Kepler looks ridiculous in his huge army green parka.

Kepler says - slowly, despite the fact he _he has to be breathing heavily and sweating_ , which Isabel is also insistent on- “Good work, Mr. Jacobi.”

Isabel says in his ears the words he wants to say, “Imagine what you could do with a lab of your own.”

And he already feels warmer knowing he’s got his family on his side.

Not that he’ll mention that.

  
  


June

(2011)

Sacramento

 

They lie on the floor, because, “Hot air rises,” says Renee, and “The tile is cool,” says Isabel. They hold hands, because they can, but any other contact is too hot.

“Are there any three star constellations?” Nik asks.

“Orion’s Belt,” says Isabel immediately.

“Zeta, Epsilon, and Delta,” says Renee.

“Nerd,” responds Isabel.

“Okay, but Orion's belt is just part of a bigger constellation, right?” says Nik.

There’s a comfortable minute of silence, then Renee says, “Well, everyone sees Orion's belt a little different since those three are so bright compared to all the other stars around. It’s part of other things but it’s those three together, first.”

“Besides babe, if you think about it,” cuts in Isabel, “All constellations are part of bigger constellations if you think big enough.”

“That’s pretty sappy,” he says, in lieu of anything smart to say.

“You nerds bring it out in me,” she says, and Renee laughs.

  
  


July

(2011)

The Physical Location is Irrelevant

 

Hera can send her messages, which is cool. Hera often sends her messages, which makes Alana feel pretty honoured. Hera is interesting.

‘what makes a person?’ pops up on her computer. Her home computer, which has a ton of work built into it that changes everyday and then other aspects randomly. Hera is, frankly, brilliant. It would scare Alana if she was a mere mortal, but she is not.

‘other than being biotic’ asks Hera.

‘there’s plenty of biotics who aren’t people,’ she writes back. ‘but’, she starts, sends, and then thinks.

‘but what?’ asks Hera.

‘to be a person is to learn things and to care about what you learn. you can teach big apes asl but they don’t think about why or the implications. any computing machine can add. but ppl actually make sense of things. you do calculations but you can actually tell what consequences they have.’

‘so to be a person is to make mistakes?’

‘to be a person is to make mistakes, and then to get better.’

  


July

(2011)

Washington, DC

 

Daniel Jacobi stares at his boss. He blinks twice, “You want me to do what?”

“It is very simple Mr. Jacobi, I need to you delay the bomb for ten minutes to allow us to reposition it, and then set it off again.”

It is very simple, for him. It’s not like he hasn’t killed people. It’s not like Senators are particularly good people. It’s not like this is what he was hired to do.

“Of course, right.” He puts his head down and works. A cut wire here, a few switches, and a few well placed pieces of modeling clay later, he says, “We have at least eight.” Kepler places the bomb into a briefcase, and they move to the basement, by the generators for the building.

Then they run.

“Well done, Mr. Jacobi,” says Kepler, as they get into the black sedan. He pours whiskey. Daniel thinks of Doug, and shakes his head. But his hands shake the whole way to the airport, to the private plan en route to Sacramento, and until he gets to visit with Maxwell, in her basement office.

He doesn’t say, “I think they want me dead.” For starters, he’s sure they are listening. Secondly, obviously they want him dead. It’s not that like it’s the first time.

As they drive home, she holds his hand. They turn the radio up so loud the bass shakes the car, like they’re telling the whole city that their coming home. It’s not like it’s calming, but he feels better afterwards. They lie on the couch because it’s good for curling up together and the white noise of the tv is nice.

“This is better,” he says.

“Well, obviously it’s better,” she says. “We’re better.”

Tomorrow he’ll see Doug and they’ll go to a dinner for breakfast at noon, and hold hands in public and he’ll spend hours with the ridiculous man who makes him laugh. He’s excited. But tonight, it’s a relief to spend time with his sister.

 

July

(2011)

San Francisco

 

“There, right, there,” says Renee, which Isabel is almost sure is a reference to some musical, but she can’t think about what it is, with the paper Renee shoves a paper right in front of her nose.

“Babe, how am I supposed to read this?”

Renee rolls her eyes, and hands her the paper like a normal person. She can feel her eyes widen. “Does this mean what I think this means?” Now, Isabel has had months of understanding legal documents, but something this good needs a more experienced eye.

Nik comes back in with tea for himself and Isabel, and coffee for Renee, (It's decaf, Isabel knows, but Renee doesn’t need to know.) and immediately gets ambushed.

“With no outside information, tell me what this legal nonsense means,” says Renee. Nik looks to Isabel for help. She nods.

“It means, well, the best interpretation is that it’s a clause for permanent division of all of an organization's sections that can be divided as small as possible in the event of loss of the CEO, which is weird, as the qualifications for CEO are to be directly approved by the past CEO. But that’s, very extreme. Like, no modern company would have this sort of clause. Where did you find this?”

Renee grins a toothy grin of a military woman with a target in sight. “It’s a fundamental part of the company charter of non other than Goddard Futurists.”

“Holy shit,” says Nik. Then they both look to Isabel. She’s holding her cup of peppermint tea in one hand, she has one of Nik’s shirts on, her nails are all painted a light pink, but they can all see the power in her frame.

 

July (the end of)

(2011)

San Francisco

 

The last good night, all together, they go down to the ocean. No one brings swimsuits or towels, since they aren’t really planning on going in, but suddenly Doug and Daniel are play wrestling and since they’re more evenly matched, Daniel ends up in the water, Doug takes this as an invitation.

Soon, they’re all soaked and while Renee is, less happy about the fact she only has a single beach blanket for them all to try and warm up in, but well. It forces them all to puppy pile, and it’s more than a little bit cute. They move from splashing around to lying around as the sun goes down, pink against the water, as lights from distant piers come on.

It’s frankly, a perfect night, warm even once the sun goes down. She lies on Nik’s chest and plays with Isabel's fingers as Alana lists off the constellations. She can’t see them from her vantage point, but last time she checked, Daniel was sitting in Doug’s lap, arguing with Alana about obscure constellations no one else has heard of. Doug looked way too fond of Daniel.

She looks skyward and can find Orion's belt after half a minute of scanning, and Isabel and Nik catch her eyes.

“Ah, yes,” says Isabel, “The queerest constellation.”

She also thinks Doug is trying to convince the other to that it’s possible to see Santa Monica Pier from where they are, which she’s pretty sure is wrong, but it’s making Isabel laugh with soft little snorts so she sure isn’t going to argue.

Nik falls asleep, which is good, because he hasn’t gotten a lot recently. Neither her nor Isabel try, but once they get up to go home, she feels lighter.

It’s the best night they have for a while.

 

August

(2011)

San Francisco

 

Doug, well, he’s a dad now. He has those dad senses, like the stories where people just _know_ something is deeply wrong. He wakes up, and calls Kate. She’s pissed to get a call at four thirty in the morning, but, “Yes, Doug, Anne is fine. And asleep. I’m looking at her right now, go back to bed.” So he sits on his bed in the dark for a few minutes, working on some breathing exercises. It usually makes him feel better to imagine it as part of the some Jedi force training. But he’s calm, well, calmer, but something's still wrong. There is a disturbance in the force.

He calls Renee.

“Commander,” he says when she answers. (He called her it in highschool when she couldn’t figure out anything gender related and was starting to look into military.)

“What do you want Eiffel?” oh boy, last names, she was not happy. It was almost five am, and he got snapchats from Isabel this early going running, so it wasn’t totally unreasonable.  

“This is stupid, but I just feel like there’s something going wrong.”

Renee is silent too long for anything to be good. “We’ve lost contact with Daniel and Isabel.”

“What?!” he says. He’s already pulling on jeans.

“You should come over,” says Renee. He grabs his keys and starts frantically putting on shoes.

“I’m on my way.”

 

August

(2011)

Some point between San Francisco and Sacramento

(About half an hour later)

 

Renee is driving. Isabel is sitting in the passenger seat. Nik and Doug sit in the back. Everyone has sent the “hey we lost contact,” secret text, with no response, and the “we are coming because we’re freaking out,” texts, to both Daniel and Alana. No response.

 

(Half an hour after)

 

They’ve picked up venti coffees at a starbucks. Doug shakes a little bit. Then, his phone buzzes. Daniel has sent a single x, the emergency signal.

Isabel, thirty seconds later, gets one from Alana.

“We’re going to get them out,” says Renee, and no one can voice any disagreement. They keep driving. Doug goes back to babbling nervously, Nik returning the conversation, well trained to mirror people as a default skill. Isabel reaches out to hold Renee’s hand.

(Half an hour after that)

The sun rises over Sacremento. It turns the sky blood red. Isabel has taken over driving, Renee sits in the back with Doug, Nik gives Isabel quiet directions to the Goddard building.

Doug is currently quiet, staring straight ahead. He’s finished his frappuccino. He isn’t fidgeting or anything, other than rubbing his thumb against the pulse point on his wrist, or his nine month token.  

Renee alternates between staring at them all. Memorizing their faces, how they look in the morning light. She hates this, she hates feeling unsure, but she also can think of the six months of work they’ve put in. And she feels powerful.

The pull up to the Goddard building, and park a block away.

Isabel takes in a deep breath in as she turns off the car. “I wish I had more time,” she says. “When we get through this, I have a story to tell you.”

“Whatever happens in there, we’re in it together,” says Renee.

Isabel manages not to say, “ _that’s what I’m worried about.”_ And they walk into the building.  

  


August

(2011)

Goddard HQ

 

It is the penthouse office. Of course it’s a penthouse office. On one side, four sleep deprived pseudo heroes. On the other, Mr. Cutter, Dr. Pryce, and two hostages. Daniel and Alana are handcuffed with some technology that no one feels good about.

Rachel had locked the door as she left.

“What do we have here? Look, all your friends came for you,” says Cutter. “And why would they?”

Dr. Pryce giggles.

“I mean, really. An alcoholic divorcee. Some military brat flunkies. A competent journalist, surprising, but not good for much else. And then-” he pauses. “Isabel Lovelace. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that story.”

Renee, she tries, she tries so hard to keep the surprised look off her face. Any information is power for them. And yet, there must be something, because Cutter zeroes in like a piranha with blood.

“Oh, I love telling this story,” Cutter continues. Miranda Pryce sighs, and fiddles with some remote. “It was what, a year ago? Isabel Lovelace, ex-military officer decides she wants to give back. She’s given a team, working on some humanitarian this or that we were working on.”

“Cutting edge technology to create a self-sustaining unit to help a community out of poverty,” explains Pryce.

“Right, that!” says Cutter. He hasn’t stopped smiling. “So we put her in charge, you know, phenomenal leadership skills, she gets things done, and then, you just need one rogue biologist and everything goes wrong.”

He says it so jovially, but Isabel turns pale.

“Oh boy, you would not have wanted to see Dr. Selberg's body after she was done with him,” He says. It’s predatory, that smile. He uses the tone as a weapon.

There is stunned pause.

“It’s okay, Isabel,” says Nik.

“Oh, the doting knight in shining armour. That’s precious,” says Cutter. “But if you want your friends to live, you’re going to explain what I mean, aren’t you?”

“Mr. Cutter,” says Isabel, finding the sweetest tone she can. “I would love to explain. But if I do, not only will my friends live, we will start negotiations.” He smiles.

“I do love a good negotiation. You have the floor.”

“Dr. Selberg was a friend of mine. I thought,” she takes in a deep breath. “My team was more like a family. And they started getting sick. And no one could tell me why. And no one would try.” She hardens her eyes. “Selberg had been using our space and funds to run experiments of his own. On a virius meant to make people stronger. Only he killed my family.”

She looks to meet Cutter’s eyes. “And when no one would listen to me, when no one would talk to me, when everyone ignored me, I took matter into my own hands. I put a bullet in his skull.”

She then socks Cutter in the jaw. And several things happen at once.

Hera unlocks the handcuffs, Daniel overpowers Pryce as Doug rushes in to duct tape her mouth, so she can’t give any robots commands. Alana gets onto the computer, to start pulling up records and deleting footage. Renee and Nik join Isabel.

“Let’s negotiate, Cutter,” says Renee.

“You’re going to resign as CEO, effective immediately. Dr. Pryce will also be retiring. You will then make Alana CEO,” says Isabel.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because otherwise, we kill you, and then Goddard gets dissolved. And all your progress slows. And it is easy to shut down smaller companies. Deceptively easy.”

Cutter considers that.

“What is stopping you from shutting down Goddard as CEO? This isn’t exactly a win win you are setting up here.”

“We’ve spent nine months preparing to run this company after we kick you out. We’d continue the progress. You have met Alana, yes? She has plans Mr. Cutter. Ambitious plans.”

“We won’t be leaving you alone.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

“Well, if we have reached an understanding, we might as well as get started on the paperwork.”

After honest to god hours of paperwork, Mr Cutter calls Rachel. “Rachel, as my last act as CEO, I would like a driver to escort me home. The chateau please, not the penthouse. No Rachel, it is not a faux paux to have a chateau just outside of Los Angeles.”

He walks Pryce out.

“Holy shit,” says Doug, eloquent as ever.

It doesn’t need to be spoken, because despite months of planning, they all have the same question in their minds: What now?

 

September

(2011)

London Heathrow

 

Kepler sits in the hard plastic chair. He can get out if he can just get on the plane. He can’t be tried, he can’t be found, he can live his damn life. He’s got savings in offshore accounts, not as much as he maybe should have, but it will get him started.

A woman in a hijab sits down next to him. It’s pretty, pale pink contrasting her dark skin. She turns to him. “Do you have the time, Colonel Kepler?”

“Oh?” he says, trying to mask his surprise. Then the, white man sitting beside him but facing the other way, turns his head, and says to the woman, “I think he’s all out of time.”

“Dammit Craigory,” she says, “it was my turn to do a line.” Then her voice turns to steel, as she says, “You’ll be coming with us.”

“You won’t want to make a fuss,” says the man. He nods. Then Kepler stands, and so do his captors.

And he walks into his fate.

 

September

(2011)

Sacramento

 

Very early one morning, Isabel stands pacing the penthouse office in Goddard's HQ. She misses the apartment she calls home. She misses not being at the forefront of every and any company issue. All head staff have been sent overseas, with an AI unit to monitor and report back. So far they’ve all been good. She doesn’t want to know what Alana and Daniel said to them.

But that leaves their little team as the only ones knowing what Goddard was actually up to.

No one is particularly happy with the way things go. They get about three weeks of running press conferences, and carefully and quietly dismantling Goddards more problematic avenues of profit, and getting, on average, three hours of sleep every night. The stock price dropped thirty dollars overnight when Cutter publically retired.  

So her she is, with all the understanding she can’t share, looking out at a world that doesn’t think to look at her.

“Hey, Hera?” she asks the dark room.

“Yes?”

“How are we doing?”

“Stock price is up, we’re within five dollars of what it was before we kicked ass. Everyone is asleep, but I am worried about the position Daniel and Doug have found themselves in. It doesn’t seem ergonomically sound.”

“Thanks, Hera.”

She decides she’ll give herself another minute of self pity before she goes off to actually make things happen. She opens her mouth to tell Hera to set a timer, when Hera interrupts with  a little, “that makes _no_ sense-”

Everything goes white, and she’s on the floor, and she blinks a couple of times. She has a dull headache. “Okay, Hera, I seriously need to be getting more sleep.”

Then she looks up. There is another Isabel Lovelace, standing looking down at her.

“O-kay,” she says, stretching out the word. “This is new.”

“No,” says the other one of her. “You are new. We are old.”

“Sure,” she says, because it seems better to go along with this until she finds out _what the fuck is happening_. “Who are you?”

“We are eternal. We are beyond you. We come from beyond the stars.”

“Oh,” she says. “Why me?”

“You are new,” they say, which, isn’t super helpful.

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“You have the power to give us what we want.”

“Okay. What do you want?” She is baffled by the idea that she could have anything these, beings? Aliens, that’s what they are, aliens, couldn’t do for themselves.

“This,” says the alien. They walk to her computer, and start playing music. What plays is Call Me Maybe. Then, a piece of Nik’s, something classical, Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give You Up, a piece she recognizes as Alana's synth pop, what she thinks is Fall Out Boy, and landing on For Good from Wicked. It’s her family’s music. It’s a familiar comfort in this, literally alien situation.

“We do not have this. We do not have capability to create this. We treasure it, but we cannot fathom how to understand it, despite extensive sharing.”

There’s currently three mp3 players in the office, belonging to Renee, Alana, Doug. It’s the most diverse collective of music she could think to give the being. Collective of beings? God she wished she wasn’t on her own. But she hesitates.

“What happens to us, when you learn how to make music of your own?”

“We cannot create music.”

“It is not hard to do, mechanically. You have mastered space travel, you can write music.”

“No. We cannot, emote, the way your species can. We do not think _any_ species can emote the way your species can.”

She thinks of all the emotions Nik and Doug go through when they watch romance movies, and Daniel and Renee's expression as they watch them watch. Of Daniel and Alana coming back from running, of long long nights, of trying to cook together and failing horribly. Of all the little things that are barely worth mentioning. Of the big ones, the songs that played when she took two nerds ice skating on their second date, of all the memories she’s beyond grateful for. Of how much they mean. And she can almost hear the music that could fit them.

She’s both smiling, and to her shock, tearing up. It’s been a hard few weeks. Whatever. No one is here to witness her.

“Yeah,” she says, voice thick. “We definitely having emoting down.”

Then, she remembers she’s talking to freaking aliens, and like any rational human, wonders if this is some sort of sleep deprived fever dream. And then she realizes how much power they must have.

“A trade,” she says. “In exchange for the music on these three storage devices, I want a hand in your speciality.”

Her double gives a wry smile. “We’re listening.”

 

September

(2011)

Repeatedly. With Variations on the theme.

 

“Aliens? Like, “take me to your leader” aliens?!”

“More like, ‘I might be hallucinating and also they like Carly Rae Jepsen,’ but yeah, aliens. Probably.”

“We still have bigger problems that plausible but unconfirmed aliens.”

“Yeah, but they aren’t nearly as cool.”

 

October

(2011)

San Francisco

 

He wakes up in a puppy pile on the couch. Doug still isn’t a morning person, but that’s okay. Daniel, his boyfriend, a thought that still makes him obscenely happy, is on one side. Alana is curled up on his other side, meaning Hera is installed in the rest of the apartment, since that’s what she was working on when he passed out.

Nik is dozing in the large recliner, Isabel in his lap, her face tucked in his neck. But Renee isn’t touching anyone. She sits only a foot from the tv screen, volume low enough it just sounds like white noise.

The screen is the news, showing the Goddard Futuristics building. Then showing the mansions Cutter and Pryce took as part of their resignations. Then the words on screen,

“Ex-CEO found Dead.”

And for a minute, he doesn’t know how to breath.

He extracts himself from Alana and Jacobi, who are both heavy sleepers. He moves slowly, telegraphing his movements so he can sit next to Renee, legs crossed. She puts a hand on his shoulder.

He listens to the details, not that there are many. Both Pryce and Cutter died around the same time, but weren’t together. The current theory is some sort of suicide-pact.

“So, it’s over,” he says, quietly, hopefully.

Renee cracks a smile and says, “constant vigilance.”

He looks over to the two sleeping in that recliner. “Isabel has been good for you.”

She turns to look softly at them, and says, “yeah.” Then, her face turns more serious, and she says, “It’s not over. It’s, probably never going to be over.”

“But it will get better,” he says.

She smiles at him, which is good, that’s one of the two things he’s good at. Making people smile and, apparently, corporate espionage.

“Come on,” she says, “Let’s get you some coffee before you have to grab Anne.” And she helps him to his feet, and they end up waking everyone up between the smell of coffee and the fact that Hera and Doug have no volume control, and Nik insists on the fancy coffee beans you have to grind yourself, and-

Things are already getting better.

 

Moonlight

(2010)

December

 

He’s had a lot of whiskey. It’s nice stuff. It’s good stuff. He can afford it on his salary. And he’s going to make a call. He knows he has Cutter is his court, at least for the time being. At least as much as he can have Cutter in his court.

He knows so much.

He doesn’t regret his choices.  He likes being on the edge of the future. He likes the rush. He knows that one day it will kill him. He’s accepted that.

But. He’s read some names. He knows how Google works. And Isabel Lovelace, whoever she is beyond the brief info he can get from the Air Force, doesn’t deserve to be in that pile on Cutter’s desk. She doesn’t deserve what has happened to her. What will.

So he pulls out a burner phone, from a while back, and dials her number.

He’s made his choices, and he’s proud most days, make no mistake. It probably won’t make a difference, not from Goddard, not really. But she’s allowed to make her own calls. If she’s smart enough to survive, she will. He likes the idea of a battle of wills, to give Mr. Cutter a bit of a challenge, that they can ride the edge.

But, alone in his apartment, in the moment before he destroys the phone but after he’s hung up, he whispers to the darkness, “Good luck, Isabel Lovelace.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well if you made it through, THANK YOU! I did actually adore writing this and I hope you enjoyed reading it. 
> 
> I have some people to thank, because this fic would not exist nor would it be half as good without the following: 
> 
> Huge thanks to the mods at wolf359bigbang for organization and deadlines, and also not having any requirements other than "write a thing". 
> 
> fortheloveandsanityofbuckybarnes, my incredible, incredible artist 
> 
> and to shannon, to the encouragement and editing and love
> 
> Also, Gabriel Urbina, please never read this, and I'm coming for you in re that finale.


End file.
